


Die A Little Death

by princehadri, whytekatt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cheating, M/M, Redrom/Blackrom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-16
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 15:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/928014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princehadri/pseuds/princehadri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whytekatt/pseuds/whytekatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You see him in your dreams sometimes - a different person, but himself all the same. He awakens feelings within you that you never wanted to have. Not for anyone. Let alone for him.</p><p>The Grand Highblood makes you feel weak. He frightens you and your hatred for him frightens you more.</p><p>But what you don't understand is his own alignment. Your hatred is matched by something just as passionate and volatile, but all the more terrifying. Something far too red for your liking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Die A Little Death

**Author's Note:**

> A request for Anonymous from my writing blog on tumblr - prompt was GHB<3Sufferer with IAMX and Imogen Heap's song My Secret Friend as inspiration.

You have memories that don't belong to you.

First it was flickers that you wrote off as simply lapses in the consciousness of your waking mind. But gradually they grew more vivid and you began to see faces. That was when all the trouble started.

When you  _remembered_.

You remember the faces of your friends, but they aren't  _your_ friends. They're different. Younger and happier and free from the bloodshed that your own people have been subjected to.

You can see the Psiioniic - or someone who must have been him, years ago. He’s carefree (more like care _less_ ) in your dreams and happier than you've ever seen him. He has freedom and life and energy. All the things you've ever wished for him to have.

You have waking dreams of your matesprit as well. She doesn't wear that same haggard expression you've seen on her for so long. In this new reality, The Disciple is always smiling. She has the life you hoped she would.

In the memories of all of your friends, there's something they all have in common: a dark presence always in the background. Moirail, matesprit, kismesis. 

You know that presence. 

He's more than a little familiar to you.

You had only meant to try - as you always do - to come to an understanding. A truce. End the fear and fighting.

When you had met with him, The Grand Highblood had listened from his would-be throne in silence until you finished your heartfelt plea. You had allowed yourself to hope against hope itself that he understood. And for a second you thought he did.

Right up until he laughed.

"Mother fucking rich," He had cackled while fathomless eyes stared you down, wild in his mirth. "No. The answer is mother  _fucking_ no. But--" A clawed hand had lifted, beckoning to you. "Since that's the best joke I've heard all day...you can live."

It had begun with those words and the shame and the guilt and the bile had risen in your throat, burning at you in every waking moment until you couldn't stand it.

The next time you met had been an accident.

The third time had been a mistake.

The fourth time had been  _need_.

You've lost count since then.

It's more than just physical, you know that. You do your best to pretend otherwise and keep telling yourself that it's simply instinct and hatred that's lain dormant for too long. He never says anything about it.

But you find yourself actually longing in your solitary moments. When you mean to reflect and meditate, it's him that your thoughts return to.

And it's where your body returns to as well.

He laughs again when he sees you standing before him, small and insignificant and ashamed. 

"The righteous Signless...to what do I owe the honor?"

"...please." The word falls from your lips with an echo. "I..."

"I didn't need an answer. They call it a mother fucking rhetorical question." The highblood beckons to you and you obey out of a sick mixture of need and desperation and fear. He pulls you into his lap once you're close enough and cups your cheek with a hand nearly large enough to wrap around your entire waist. Claws caress your skin with a stranger tenderness while his painted face remains unreadable.

"How's my little mother fucking mutant doing?"

Your heart forgets to beat for a second. It's hard to breathe and your face is giving you away.

"Do your secrets make you sick?" There's a dark smile on his face and if it weren't for the lighting, you would say it was bitter.

His words cut deep but when the corner of his lips press against yours you allow yourself to forget. Your head turns slightly, asking for more of his lips against yours. Another rhetorical question and this one you want to occupy your mouth with so you won't answer.

For a moment you feel bad; thinking back on the Disciple and how loyal she's been to you. But you could never hate her and there  _were_  four quadrants.  This... _monster_  was definitely a flush. You feel the blackest of blacks for him.

What you didn't know is that he also feels flushed - mutant blood red.


End file.
